


The Scars we Share

by Charlie9646



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/pseuds/Charlie9646
Summary: Those who survive war never do without any scars. Some however are invisible. Eighth year Hermione and Draco try to make a go of it, but the past doesn’t seem to want to let go.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 104
Collections: 2020 Sounds Like Dramione





	The Scars we Share

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2020SoundsLikeDramione](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020SoundsLikeDramione) collection. 



> "Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you to my alpha and/or beta for their time and help.  
> The prompt for my story was "Oh, hush, my dear, it's been a difficult year  
> And terrors don't prey on  
> Innocent victims  
> Trust me, darling, trust me darling"
> 
> Bad Liar - Imagine Dragon

Magic was simultaneously the best and worst thing for Hermione Jean Granger—the greatest gift, but also the bane of her existence.

Sometimes, she found herself wondering who she would have been without it. Someone else. Not better or worse, just different.

In her eighth year, Hermione experienced something that she never had before. A year without a villain, without a monster lurking in the shadows— a year like every other before the Sorting Hat was placed atop Harry Potter’s head.. The very thought of it made Hermione want to laugh. The mere foolishness of the fact that she missed the normalcy of the years prior to her own arrival at Hogwarts made her feel as though she were a frog in a pot, having adapted to the insanity of it all. 

Maybe that was why Hermione sought out Draco Malfoy, the shrill blond boy who had made her life miserable for as long as she could remember. Hermione actively lied to herself, telling herself that she did not like him, that it was about nothing more than sex. It was about nothing more than wanting to shut off her own mind. It was escapism at its very best. 

But it wasn’t only about sex, and it never would be. Malfoy brought out strong emotions in her. Since the time she punched him years ago, his nose crumbling as if made of sand, to now when Hermione found herself in his bed. Whether it was displeasure or delight they never were able to keep things simple between them. But, the truth was she didn’t want that.

Ronald Weasley on the other hand had been simple and safe. Comfortable and easy. They had been like an old married couple before they had gotten together―sniping about books, the way the man ate, and their plans for the future. Ron wanted the easy way. The man didn’t want to be an Auror anymore than Hermione herself did, but it was the way to never set foot in Hogwarts ever again which meant the man felt it was the right choice for him. It had been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. 

The first step she took onto the Hogwarts Express for her eighth year, Hermione decided she would try to not take the easy way anymore. The easy way would only lead to lying, not only to others but herself, and that wasn’t something she ever was going to do again. It was one of the moments that changed everything.

Not taking the easy way meant walking past Ginny without even looking at her, who was still angry at her for “breaking her daft brother’s heart,” even if the girl had long ago tried to convince Hermione to get back with him. It meant finding Malfoy who was despised by both sides, hiding himself in a compartment, with only a book on ancient runes for company. 

The man with shocking white-blond hair said nothing, though he glanced at her what felt like every few seconds, and even if she would not admit it to herself, Hermionewas doing the same. It was as if they were dancers reaching for one another, brushing the other’s fingertips to only pull away at the last second. It felt like being teased or goaded, neither of which she enjoyed. 

“Are we going to spend this whole train ride staring at one another or are you actually going to say something, Draco?” Hermione asked, not caring that her question cut like a knife. 

“We aren’t friends, Granger,” Draco bristled, like a cat. “And nothing not even a war will ever bloody well change that.”

Hermione laughed. For someone who thought he was so smart, sometimes Malfoy was so stupid. 

“We don’t have to be friends to be kind to one another, Malfoy,” she said. “But, even if that’s not the case, you look like you could use a friend or two—at least from where I stand.”

Grabbing her beaded bag, Hermione left the man sitting there awestruck. She went to go find Luna and whoever else didn’t believe Ron’s story about her breaking his heart. 

If Malfoy wanted to bathe in his own suffering, then so be it, he could reach out to her if or when he was ready to make amends. She would no longer fall on her sword for a man, least of all someone who wouldn’t give her the time of day. At least that’s what Hermione told herself, but she had always been a bad liar.

* * *

Hermione and Draco were like passing ships in the night, always seeming to find the other no matter how much they wanted to avoid the other. Neither wanted to admit that they were enjoying each random meeting a little too much. To his fellow Slytherins, Malfoy was like a person infected with Dragon pox, always kept at arm's length because of how his family had betrayed the cause, by betraying the Dark Lord, and him more so. 

Hermione, on the other hand, kept her friends at a distance by choice. They wanted to talk about things. They wanted to share their feelings, picking them apart bit by bit. What was the point of it all? It had happened.Talking about it would not change that fact and dwelling on it only caused it to sink deeper in, which she wanted none of. 

Hermione bolted into an empty classroom when she saw Ginny coming around the corner. Long ago they had been good friends, but even when she seemed to get past the fact Ron and Hermione were like oil and water, Ginny’s desire to work through things and Hermione’s desire to just bury it was like a shield between them, forever keeping them at a distance. 

“I’m just a bloody nutter, aren’t I?” Hermione hissed to herself. “Hiding from my friend like I am scared of them? Who does that?”

“People who ask that usually aren’t nutters,” Draco laughed from the corner, dim wand light. “But the universe might decide differently when it comes to you.”

“Were you just born an arse or is it a talent?” sasked, crossing her arms over her chest and sharply turning in his direction. “Because I have never done anything to you and yet you have always been an absolute prat to me.”

“Says the person who broke my nose in third year,” he shot back, setting aside his book.

“And you were acting like a stupid git and deserved it,” Hermione growled. “Buckbeak didn’t deserve to die! You were laughing about an innocent animal getting killed.”

“Actually I was laughing about the stupid look on Potter’s face, but I’m guessing that is now beside the point?” 

“It is,” she snapped, shifting from one foot to the other, wanting to jump out of her own skin. Malfoy knew just what buttons to push to irritate her, but the man was not a monster, killer, nor was he anymore of a Death Eater than Professor Snape had been. 

Draco rolled his eyes and shoved his book into his satchel that he had been reading. 

“Malfoy, want to get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Granger?” He smirked, clearly enjoying their banter and the idea of going on a date, far more than he should. “Because if you are, you should consider what your friends might think. Potter clearly will not be happy with the idea nor will the Weasel.”

Draco Malfoy was the only person who seemed to not want to drown himself in memories or forget that the war happened, and that was enough to make him attractive in Hermione’s eyes, but then again, his looks helped his case as well.   
“That’s what it is, if you want it to be that,” Hermione muttered, twisting one of her curls around her fingers.

“If we are going on a date then shouldn’t we use our first names—” Draco questioned jokingly, raising one white-blond eyebrow, “—Hermione?”

The way he purred her name with practice and purpose, made him seem as though he were a tom cat who had finally gotten his cream and made her stomach twist with a sweet feeling she had a difficult time putting a name to.

“Draco?” She asked, shifting from foot to foot. Trying to settle her stomach, though failing. Her face heating up as she did so. “Lunch on Saturday in Hogsmeade?”

“It’s a date,” he confirmed. “We can make our way over at ten.”

“Yes, see you then.”

Bloody hell what was she doing? Had she lost her mind? 

* * *

Draco sat in front of Hermione looking just as uncomfortable as she felt, as he folded and unfolded his napkin repeatedly into the shape of a swan. People were staring openly, as if they were animals in some strange zoo behind a wall of glass. 

Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer, wishing it was something far stronger. “We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” 

“And if we run away we are giving them exactly what they want,” Draco snapped. “I am tired of running and tired of acting like I have something more to be ashamed of.”

Hermione stood and walked to the other side of the table. Draco’s fingers brushed against her arm as she settled into the other side of the booth, sending shivers up her spine, making her already wild hair stand on end. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and instead of backing away, Hermione jumped. 

She kissed Draco. 

Her fingers tugged at his nearly white hair as her lips pillowed against his. The man tasted like butterbeer and a little bit like he was just as lost as she was. Pulling away Hermione reached for his hand, grasping it tightly in her own. 

“If we are going to give them something to talk about we might as well do it right,” she whispered, biting her lip and hoping desperately the man wouldn’t run away screaming. 

“Yeah, we should,” Draco said breathlessly, his pale cheeks turning a bright pink. “I am going to order another butterbeer, want one?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said, fiddling with her hair and sliding out of the booth so he could go to the bar. “Want to go to Honeydukes, afterwards?” 

“Yeah, that would be fun.”

  
Taking the butterbeer from Draco’s hand, after he walked back over to her, Hermione kissed his cheek once more when he settled into the booth next to her. However, Lavender was staring at them, her almost violet eyes filled with scorn, and the sight of her scarred face made Hermione’s stomach twist itself into knots. 

There were rumors going around the common room that Ron and Lavender were dating again, even with him in the Aurors. Hermione didn’t bloody care either way,Lavender could have him if she wanted him. They suited each other quite well, from where Hermione stood. 

  
Hermione stood sharply, taking Draco’s hand into her own and dragging him along with her. 

Before they escaped the suffocating pub they heard it. “What do you call someone who turned traitor on her own kind, Padma?” Lavender asked, snark filling her tone in a way that would have made Snape proud. “What you call a Muggleborn sleeping with a Death Eater.”

“Lavender, don’t start,” Ginny clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Leave them alone.”

“I didn’t ask you, Weasley,” she growled. “I asked Padma. You're no better than her. I see the way you look at Parkinson, so leave this conversation to the non-traitors.”

“I happen to love Harry!” Ginny spat, her face turning the same color as her hair. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”

It was like watching two thestrals fight over a piece of meat, no matter how much Hermione wanted to move, it felt as if there was a sticking spell on her feet, gluing her to the bloody floor. When she turned to look at Draco, he was ghastly pale.

“Come on, Granger,” he said, softly. “If I want to watch peacocks pick at each other I can do that at my home.”

“Yeah let’s go,” Hermione said. “But, let me say something first. Lavender, why don’t you worry about your own boyfriend?” 

Lavender turned a shade of purple much darker than her own namesake, as Draco pulled Hermione from the Three Broomsticks, chewing on his lip. Once they stepped outside, his laughter bubbled up, turning his cheeks a beautiful shade of pink, and for once in a long time, the wizard looked truly happy.

“You're handsome when you smile,” Hermione said. “And it’s so nice to see it.”

“Not as pretty as you are,” Draco mused, kissing her forehead. “Now come on, I want to get some Chocolate Frogs. I’m still trying to get Phineas Nigellus Black card."

“You know he was the worst headmaster ever, don’t you?” she teased. “I have also met his portrait and he is quite rude if I do say so myself.”

“I am related to him, but you knew that didn’t you?” he asked. 

“On your mother’s side, correct?” Hermione questioned. “And you're just as stubborn as he is.” 

“Yes, Granger, and you wouldn’t have me any other way,” Draco said. “Now come on, the chocolate frogs are waiting.” 

For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt no need to lie to herself and that was quite wonderful.

* * *

Hermione and Draco were sitting in the Room of Requirement. It was odd to be here after all that had happened during the war, but the magic of the castle had healed it, twisting it into something rather new. It was both the same and better than it was before, though it was a dismal reminder of all that had happened. This room had been ashes once, and would it really matter if it happened again? What was one more room gone, when people had been lost? 

Draco quietly lit a cigarette, the smoke slithering around him like the snakes of his Hogwarts house. He leaned back into the bed they sat on and Hermione groaned softly, shoving the Slytherin who was neither truly good or evil. Draco was in the land of grey as he always was, but now Hermione enjoyed it. 

“Must you do that?” Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose. “It smells horrible.”

Draco laughed. “Do you want one?”

“Why would I want one of those wretched horrible things?” she questioned, rolling over to her stomach, her shirt riding up to reveal the soft skin beneath. 

“Because,” he deadpanned, “They help shut off my mind and I am sure as anything you need that as much as I do.”

“Oh fine, give me one,” Hermione growled, snatching one from the pack of cigarettes that Draco held out. She lit it, not caring if the blankets beneath them went up in flames. 

A hacking cough came up from Hermione’s throat, shaking her frame like waves hitting a shore, coming and going with each breath she took. She threw the cigarette to the floor, but it only singed the carpet before Hermione stood to stomp it out. Her frustration at life poured into the movement. It felt good to do it, even if she knew it was quite crazy to do such a rather outlandish thing. 

“That’s one way to smoke a cigarette,” Draco sighed. “Try not to do that again, would you? You might start a bloody fire and I have to go into bloody Muggle London to get them.”

“Is there something wrong with Muggle London?” she deadpanned, clearly just a little bit unhinged to even her.

“Granger, stop it would you?” he groaned. “I simply don’t like being stared at in the Leaky, it doesn't have anything to do with Muggles or London. Now, would you please remove the stick up your arse?”

“You first, Malfoy.”

“So, I am back to Malfoy?” Draco asked. After setting his cigarette in an astray, that appeared out of thin air, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned his head on her shoulder. “That’s quite sad, don’t you think?” he whispered against Hermione’s ear.

Bravado and arrogance, she knew it well—the easiest way to grow close to someone and keep them at an arm's length at the same bloody time. There was a sharpness to his jokes, a pain that was buried just beneath the surface, and instead of talking about it, she deflected with humor.

“Well, you said Granger first, Draco,” Hermione shot back, turning to face him. She kissed him, her fingers going to that stupid blond hair of his, unkempt in a way that was just so utterly not Malfoy, but it suited Draco so well. 

His lips tasted like cigarettes, the mint gum he had taken to chewing, and something she couldn’t put her finger on. Draco froze, as if his mind was somewhere far from this room and Hogwarts itself, before his fingers tangled into her hair, surely twisting it into knots. 

We should not be doing this, Hermione thought, but why not? Why did the silly, downright foolish rules of the wizarding world matter? First comes love, then comes marriage, and then baby pram… None of it was worth a bloody damn. And this? This was fun. 

Hermione’s fingers went to Draco’s shirt buttons, undoing them one by one until it hung open on his shoulders. She unclasped his belt, the leather beneath her fingers smooth and soft. She had done this before hidden away with Ron in his bedroom, after sneaking out of Ginny’s room. They hadn’t gone much further before he began to be too worried about being caught. 

Not that she wanted to either, but here there wasn’t such a worry. For all most knew this place was still locked down tight as a trap, but if they still went looking for it? So be it. Life was about taking chances. 

Draco sighed softly into her neck as his fingers pressed against her hips. Hermione gently shoved him back after she helped him out of his trousers, so that her own could follow soon after Things moved quickly after that—a tangle of limbs, mouths moving along each other's skin. The man filling every inch of her, causing Hermione to throw her head back and let out a wanton scream. 

Draco was wonderful. 

The look in his clear silver eyes said he felt the same thing about her. There were no lies between them in this instant when they were as close as two people could possibly be. Hermione could not fully tell where one of them ended and the other began. It felt like being alive once more, and she knew neither of them would trade that for anything.

Draco came first with a cry into Hermione’s neck. When he pulled out, his fingers found their way to her folds, teasing her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She came with a scream with his name falling from her lips. 

They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Tomorrow they could worry about everything else.

* * *

Hermione woke up to the feeling of Draco’s fingers brushing up and down her arm. She could hear someone crying, the whimpers filling her ears, but she couldn’t place the source of the sound. It couldn’t be her, could it?

But it was her. Draco wasn’t crying, and no one else was in the room. 

“Hush my dear, it’s difficult years, terrors don’t prey on innocent victims, trust me, darling,” the blond sang softly as if it were some sort of lullaby. Maybe it was, but not one Hermione had ever heard. 

“Marry me?” Draco asked, softly before kissing her forehead.

“Maybe,” Hermione sighed, “But we both have to graduate first. And no more lies, okay?”

“No more lies,” they promised, together. 

Draco added, “you’re a bad liar anyway.”

“So are you,” she said, sighing as she did so.

With a simple spell, a ring appeared on Hermione’s finger which she refused to answer any questions about—there would be time for that in the future. 


End file.
